


Thirty Pieces of Beskar

by kerithwyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: The Mandalorian’s perspective, episodes 1-3. Parallel to “Mertensian Mimicry.”
Comments: 13
Kudos: 250





	Thirty Pieces of Beskar

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mertensian Mimicry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522253) by [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn). 



> This is what happens when you write a line in a fic that would make a good title. Good titles should not be wasted. This is also what happens when you write fic at 35,000 feet, so caveat lector.

The bounty is a child. 

He looks at the green humanoid in the transport egg and curses inwardly. At his side, IG 11 speaks of termination and raises its gun. Without a twitch to betray his intent, the Mandalorian shifts his blaster just enough to blow a hole through the droid.

It’s a logical choice. The payout for a living bounty is much higher. He needs the beskar for his clan and for himself. No other reason.

Throughout the next few days he focuses on the immediate: returning to his ship. Discovering that the damned Jawa hu’tunn have stripped his ship. Attacking their sandcrawler for the stolen parts and being repulsed. Finding Kuiil again, negotiating with the Jawas, agreeing to retrieve the mudhorn egg...

...which is when it all goes sideways. 

The mudhorn is...large. And angry. He can’t fault it for either, but it stands in the way of fulfilling the bounty. It is stronger and faster than he anticipated, and after it deals him a devastating blow he sets his dagger and waits for honorable death in battle, determined to drag it to hell with him.

He’s braced for the impact when the mudhorn stumbles, flails...and rises into the air. 

In disbelief, he turns to see the child in its transport with its hand extended toward the mudhorn, obviously under considerable strain. First thing first: he scrapes himself off the ground and dispatches the creature that trampled him. Second thing: he sees the child-thing lapse into unconsciousness and makes sure it is still breathing. Third thing: the mudhorn egg, because regardless of anything else he is leaving this planet, and he requires his ship.

The work of the repairs keeps him from the need to consider what he’s seen. He has no explanation for it but one impossibility.

Once en route, he has no distraction from his thoughts. The small being is an enigma. He doesn’t know its species, has never heard or a creature like this. Never mind one that can move objects like a cursed Jedi. And that, he knows with certainty, is the reason for its price and the lack of an official contract.

But it doesn’t matter. He swore oaths to the guild, to pursue every assignment with all his resources and ability. He swore oaths to his clan, to follow the bounty hunter’s path with honor and protect the justly fearsome reputation of his people. 

His oath to protect foundlings is no less sacred. But failing that duty betrays only his ideals. Failing the others betrays the guild and more important, his hidden people. They rely on his bounty winnings and his status. Disappointing them is...unthinkable. 

There is no decision to be made here. He is a bounty hunter. He follows the guild’s code. 

He ignores the child’s squeals. Any other captive would be stashed below in a carbon freeze container. But without knowing the child’s—the _bounty’s_ race or vulnerabilities, there’s too high a risk of stasis psychosis or death. Having come so far, he will not damage it through carelessness. He’s earned the full measure for this bounty. 

The town where the client waits feels like a powder keg. Faces glare as he passes, jealous of his success. They will hate him even more when they see what the beskar makes. Hate is good: it’s honest and clean. He knows exactly where he stands.

Above them. Superior. The victor.

Somehow it doesn’t feel like a victory, dealing with the craven stormtroopers, speaking with the man who bought his labor. 

The child whimpers. He ignores it. The doctor takes it away, out of his sight. Out of mind, soon.

He stares at the shining silver-platinum bars. So much. Enough for his earned armor, enough for his clan to survive, enough for the foundlings...

...all except the one he sold. 

No. The one he accepted a contract for, the one he swore an oath to retrieve for fair payment, no different than any other bounty. 

Even as he scoops up the beskar, he knows that’s a lie. 

It eats at him through the forging of his armor, his meeting with Greef Carga, all the way to his ship. Even as the engines cycle up, he knows that his path has changed.

There is no decision to be made here. He is a Mandalorian. He follows a higher code. 

He turns off the engines, gathers his weapons, and returns to the place of betrayal.

With a shot to the door droid, he embraces his sin.


End file.
